T H I R T Y F I V E
T H I R T YF I V E
- Avery -
H is shiny black granite countertops made his kitchen feel like Batman’s lair, and the setting seemed to amplify how mesmerizing I found his sure movements. He lifted the lid off the saucepan, releasing a curl of steam into the air, and I smiled into my wine glass.
He looked good in the kitchen. Who was I kidding? He looked good everywhere, and my whole body was twitching with temptation. “This is pretty romantic, Oliver.” I swirled the wine in my glass, picturing him in a chef’s hat and nothing else. Perhaps that’s how I should’ve punished him for lying to me. I bet taking a wooden spoon to his beautiful backside while he begged for forgiveness would’ve been far more fun than the silent treatment I’d served for lack of a better idea.
“Can’t accuse me of not trying.”
It occurred to me suddenly that I’d never broken into a lobster before. I assumed he had the necessary tools, but I hadn’t the slightest idea how to use them elegantly. “You make lobster for all the women you go out with?” I asked, glancing across the room to confirm Simba was still eyeing me suspiciously.
“This is the first time actually.”
I was flattered he thought it took lobster to impress me. Grace baked a few edible flowers into the top of some banana bread the other day, and I was still reeling.
“The recipe’s from my dad’s cookbook.”
“Oh wow. I didn’t realize it was out already.”
“It’s not, but I got an advanced copy.” He nodded towards a neat row of hardback cookbooks near the toaster. I made my way over and slid it from the stack, smiling when I saw how much he looked like his dad. Just… fuller bodied. They had the same dark eyes, though. The same thick head of hair. I was about to open the book when a photo on the fridge caught my eye.
“Is this your parents on prom night?” I asked.
“Homecoming,” he said. “You’re looking at the king and queen of Roosevelt High.”
“They’re adorable.”
“My mom’s adorable. My dad’s just incredibly lucky.”
I glanced over my shoulder at him.
“That’s what he’d tell you, anyway.”
I looked back at the candid picture, wondering if it was the moment before they posed for the camera or if they’d been having too much fun to do so. Either way, his mom was beaming at his dad so brightly I got a lump in my throat.
“We’re having the dish on page eighty-four, if you’re curious to check it out.”
“I am,” I said, returning to the table with the heavy book. As soon as I opened it, the nerd in me started drooling over the fancy fonts, and the food photography was insane. Coupled with the smells coming from the kitchen, my stomach couldn’t help but growl. “Please tell me whoever took these pictures got to taste the food.”
“Probably on more than one occasion. My dad’s an incurable perfectionist. Wouldn’t surprise me if he placed every piece of crushed peppercorn by hand.”
Simba’s orange face eyed me from a few feet closer than before. I’d heard of a watchdog, but never a watchcat. What was he playing at? “Does Simba eat lobster?” I asked, flipping ahead to page eighty-four.
Oliver laughed as he pulled the mashed potatoes he’d been warming from the oven. “Did you hear that, Simba?”
His pointy ears perked towards the kitchen.
“Avery wants to know if you like lobster.” Oliver threw his smiling eyes toward the sky.
Simba disappeared around the counter, and Oliver glanced in his direction before bending down to slip him something. A satisfied smile teased Oliver’s face, but it was nothing compared to Simba’s smug expression when he came around the corner licking his lips. They were truly a ridiculous pair.
“I can’t believe you’re a cat guy.”
“I can’t believe you asked if my formerly feral street cat likes lobster .”
I laughed. “He’s licking his paws right now like the high life is all he’s ever known.”
“Take notes,” he said, his eyes finding mine.
I blushed and dropped my eyes towards the recipe. Now was no time to get ahead of myself. It was easy to promise a woman more. The question was whether he could promise me no more messes.
But a second later, I realized that was extremely unlikely because I nearly drooled on myself reading the divine description of the lemon butter sauce. Better yet, he’d be serving the tail without the shell, so breaking a sweat wouldn’t be necessary. “I’m relieved to discover you’re serving it this way. I was kind of worried you might make me work for my dinner.”
“You already have,” Oliver said, stirring and serving two portions of steaming mashed potatoes. “By breaking into the puzzle box and overlooking my poor judgment because I’m your dream guy.” He stole a glance at me.
“Seems statistically unlikely that anyone’s dream guy would move in next door,” I said, squinting at him as he artfully arranged the lobster he’d prepared before sprinkling a few sprigs of fresh parsley.
“I know,” he said, carrying two plates over. “How does it feel to be one of the lucky ones?” He set my plate down, and then his dark eyes met mine.
I swallowed. What if I was one of the lucky ones? What if I let myself believe that?
He removed the cookbook from the table and grabbed my wine glass.
“Thanks,” I said, dropping my eyes to my plate when he turned around. “This looks incredible.”
“I hope you’re as pleased with how it turned out as I am,” he said, topping up our wine glasses.
How could I not be pleased? The meal before me was almost more mouthwatering than the man who’d prepared it. Clearly, the perfectionist apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. There was nothing haphazard about the way he’d plated each hunk of lobster and fluffy cloud of potatoes. And the carefully curled lemon twists perched at the edge of the plate were expertly executed.
“This is almost too pretty to eat,” I confessed.
“That’s how I feel every time I see you,” he said, arriving at the edge of the table with a sly smile and a silver gravy boat full of golden sauce. “May I?”
My heart swelled. Up until that moment, I thought I knew what I wanted from a relationship, and it all seemed so reasonable. But maybe my disastrous dating adventures happened because I was afraid to dream bigger. I mean, it never occurred to me in my wildest dreams that I might meet a hunk who’d delight in drizzling fancy butter over my food! “Yes, please.”
He poured it on slowly and purposefully, and I was glad. I wanted to burn the moment into my memory forever. The whole thing was so surreal.
I licked my lips and caught him looking, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he drifted over to his record player, removed an album from its sleeve, and lowered the needle gently. Oh sure, I thought, now play the music soft . It was something I didn’t recognize, but I liked it right away.
“Yusef Lateef,” he said, reading my mind.
He slid into the chair across from me, his gaze weighty and warm.
I raised my glass. “May it taste as good as it looks.”
He smiled and met me halfway, the light clink of our glasses feeling like closure and a fresh start all at once.
“To answer your earlier question,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I made an extra lobster you can break into after dinner if you really want a crack at it."
Wow. An extra lobster . He must’ve been even more horrified by my bare fridge than I realized. His leftovers on any given day were probably Michelin-star quality. And that was just one aspect of his unrelatable life. He had literal celebrity contacts. A sexy convertible I only pretended to think was crass. A body built for a cologne commercial. He may have been the guy next door, but there was no denying he wasn’t—and could never really be—a normal neighbor.
“So we can have lobster rolls tomorrow.”
I hadn’t been planning to stay over.
“I’ll make some up for you.”
So he didn’t expect me to stay.
“Speaking of which,” he said, his playful eyes sparkling, “Text me when you get home tonight.”
Was he sending me home? Before I could say I wasn’t staying?! How dare he!
“Obviously, you’re welcome to stay if you want. I just can’t guarantee Simba won’t step on your head if you fall asleep.”
“I wasn’t going to stay.”
“I figured.” He held my gaze until my lower body clenched.
Was this a blatant attempt at reverse psychology? “Did you go to all this trouble because you want me to sleep over?” I tried to put the memory of him teasing his tongue down my back until it arched for him out of my mind, tried not to think about the possessive way he held my hips when he was bending me to his will.
“It would be more accurate to say I want to keep you up all night.”
“You’re insatiable,” I said, secretly loving the intensity of his attention.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Avery. Your body is graceful and fluid, and your smile is infectious. I don’t just want to sleep with you. I want to everything with you.”
I sighed.
He gestured towards my plate. “Please, start.”
I watched how he cut into his lobster and mimicked his actions. A moan escaped my throat as I savored my first flavorful bite. When I opened my eyes after the tasty explosion, Oliver was beaming at me, his pride and amusement palpable. And in that moment, something shifted. Settled. It felt as if clouds between us had lifted. Was this what moving on felt like?
“Well?”
“I’ll take a cookbook in every color,” I joked before gleefully stuffing my cheeks with lobster chunks again.
“That’s great news.”
“You really didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to,” he said with a shrug. “Your company is a privilege, and you deserve decadence.”
You deserve decadence . The matter-of-fact way he said it struck me. Was he right? I’d always thought decadence was having more than one kind of cheese in the fridge, but maybe it was time to demand more for myself. Time to expect more.
“Even if you don’t want it with me.”
My brows lifted.
“Just kidding. I take that back. It seemed like a kind thing to say, but I don’t mean it. I want you all to myself.”
I laughed.
“Not because I’m the only guy who’s good enough for you, but because the other guys don’t even come close.”
God, I wanted to forgive him, wanted to forget how easy it was for him to deceive me. Wanted to lap up his words like lemony lobster butter and not look back. But that required a leap of faith. And l wasn’t a teenager anymore. I’d been burned too many times to take leaping and loving lightly.
“Wait until we check out the restaurants in the puzzle box,” he said, cutting another lump of lobster. “I have some predictions about which you’ll like best, but I know better than to think you won’t surprise me.”
I wondered how many had bathrooms that were big enough to hook up in and whether that was a factor in his selection process. Would we take that risk again? If I didn’t leap, I’d never know. If I didn’t leap, he’d move on and make sexy secret memories with some other woman. The thought made me sad. As much as I hated that he’d kept a secret from me, I still wanted to be the woman who shared secrets with him. “How did you come up with that idea anyway?”
“They’re promises I can keep,” he said. “If you give me a chance, you’ll realize I’m the kind of guy who honors his word.... Though I don’t always speak the right ones at the right time.”
“Is that what tonight’s about? Wining and dining me and making promises you can keep?”
“That, and I figured you’d find me irresistible if I showed you how good I am at lighting candles.” He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and reached forward to light the short, cream-colored one in the center of the table.
I laughed. “You did make that look easy.”
His eyes came to rest on mine then, and for a moment we just sat there in silence, staring at each other. It felt as if there was so much to say, and yet, without a word, he made me feel seen. And safe.
“I want you, Avery. All of you. All the time. I think you’re incredible, and I really love your peaches…”
I blushed, remembering the night he sang that song softly against my breasts in the dark, his moonlit muscles moving over me. Every flick of his tongue had been tantalizing that night. The memory alone was enough to make me jealous of his lobster. “Did you ultimately have to get a restraining order against your stalker?”
“Are you kidding me? Can’t we just have a nice dinner? It’s bad enough that you’re torturing me by pretending this might be the last time you’re ever going to see me. The least you could do is not dredge up past drama.”